A Victor's Existence
by CaliforniaTexasNorthCarolina
Summary: "The sponsor throws me down, face-first on the bed.. he's making love to one already dead." Hello everybody! I got the idea for this story about exploring Katniss's life as a Victor by herself. And what if the Second Rebellion had FAILED? What if there were additional Hunger Games Victors from District 12? These questions and more will be explored in this, my latest epic. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1: Another Reaping for Another G

**Chapter 1: Another Reaping for Another Games**

The pounding on my door is jarring, discordant, against the pleasant dream that is now sucked from my consciousness and into oblivion.

"Miss Everdeen! Get up! You have to be at the Justice Building in 30 minutes!"

Groaning, but not loud enough for the Peacekeepers to hear, I rise from my bed and ready myself for the worst day of my year. The worst day of my life that happens to occur annually. For today is the Reaping for the 88th Annual Hunger Games. Today is the day I will know which two children in my district will be sent into a cage match of almost certain death.

 _Almost_. Although lately, I have tended to drop that adjective and just go with _certain_.

My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am 30 years old. When I was a teenager - 16, to be precise - I was Reaped as the girl tribute for the 74th Annual Hunger Games. Well, actually, it was my baby sister Primrose who was Reaped. I volunteered to spare her life. Thus, I was sent into a tournament in which 24 children from the 12 Districts of Panem compete in an outdoor arena and fight to the death. The last tribute standing wins, and becomes a Victor, mentoring future tributes for the rest of his/her days.

I won that 74th Games. My hunting partner and best friend, Gale Hawthorne, was my district counterpart that year. Working together and acting as though we were just on another one of our illegal hunts outside Twelve, we worked our way into the Top Three. Facing off against a Career tribute named Cato, Gale sacrificed himself and brought the boy from District 2 down with him so that I could win and live.

Feeling my eyes well up at the traumatic memory, the saltiness mixing with the shower droplets, I turn off my faucet and dry myself, dressing in simple pants and a top. Being the middle of June, this Reaping promises to be like any other in terms of weather: a scorcher. People have fainted from heatstroke during the event before. No sense wearing more than I absolutely have to. I hurry down the stairs and open the door to find a small platoon of white-armored guards waiting for me. I guess I was quick enough. Although I doubt they would have barged in or something if I had taken my own sweet time. This thought makes me wonder if, as a Victor, I have _power_ over these Peacekeepers. I am unsure, and I do not want to press my luck just to find out.

There are six Peacekeepers total, three of which flank me on either side as a sort of escort. Thus, I am marched out of the Victors' Village. Since the dawn of the Games, only three people have lived here, including myself: Duke Vedaldi, a young man who won decades ago, the 13th Games I think? He's also been dead for several decades.

We now pass by one of the empty houses. An abandoned house, really, littered with trash. It still looks as though a bomb went off in it, even though it's been empty for nearly fifteen years. Just beyond this residence is the graveyard containing District 12's failed tributes - all 171 of them. One headstone stands out amongst the rest, however. It is more of a shrine fit for a legend.

I swallow the lump in my throat. _Haymitch_. Haymitch Abernathy - the paunchy, middle-aged drunk who was my mentor. He won the 50th Hunger Games, or Second Quarter Quell. Quells are a special edition of the Games held every quarter-century, and contain some sadistic twist. For my master, it was twice as many tributes entering the arena. Then, for the 75th Hunger Games or Third Quarter Quell - the year after I won - former Victors were made to enter the arena again. Haymitch and I were the only Victors who could go in and represent Twelve. The old man withdrew from the alcohol he loved so much, pulling off a Herculean effort just to keep me alive. The stakes were higher than normal; at that time, a rebellion was stirring in Panem, one that I was being blamed for. I always suspected President Coriolanus Snow had rigged the Quell to ensure my participation and my death. But Haymitch, along with several allies we made, outsmarted him. My mentor stayed alive long enough until there were only three of us left, and like Gale before him, sacrificed himself and took the rest of the field with him to ensure my victory.

Winning the arena two times in a row, I fled Snow's wrath. I went underground and agreed to lead the rebellion against the Capitol. The only thing is, it failed. My sister Prim was killed by bombs, and my mother fled to District 4 out of grief. I wanted to die, too, but President Snow spared my life, on the condition I play by the rules of a Victor and serve the Games until I die. Having lost nearly everyone I loved, I had no choice.

And so here I am, conscripted into mentoring tributes for the thirteenth year in a row. All alone. My only comfort is that Haymitch managed to do just that, and for nearly twice as long.

We have now arrived at the Justice Building. I mount the stone steps, taking the stage and allow the Peacekeepers to usher me into a chair next to the District's Mayor. Effie Trinket, our District's escort, takes the stage. Underneath her pink hair and outlandish make-up, she gives me a sympathetic smile. I return it wearily. We've been friends for years; she escorted when I was first Reaped.

Every year, the Ceremony is the same. The Mayor begins the proceedings my reading a scripted monologue about the Dark Days - the first Rebellion - and its squashing that led to the formation of the Hunger Games. Then, he reads the names of past District 12 Victors. As is tradition, all of Twelve conducts a moment of silence for its deceased champions, Duke and Haymitch. When my name is called, there is only a small smattering of applause. Everyone is careful not to clap too enthusiastically, for even after all these years, a show of praise like that could suggest sympathy for the failed Second Rebellion that I led.

Effie now takes the stage: "Welcome! Welcome! The time has come to select one young man and young woman for the honor of representing District Twelve in the 88th Annual Hunger Games! As always: ladies first." She pulls a wisp of paper from the Girls' Reaping Ball. "Alexis Gilmore!"

A shy Seam girl with a mousy but nonetheless pretty face takes the stage. She looks to be about 16. Deep blue eyes and flowing brown hair. Attractive. I can already think of many sponsors who might take a chance on her for her looks alone.

"Wonderful! And now for the boys." Effie turns to the other Reaping Ball and withdraws a name. "John Thuy!"

A mixed-race Merchants' son of probably 18 ascends the platform. His exotic skin tone and muscular build make him handsome - he is probably half-African and half-Asian. Strong. He could make a go to join the Career pack, if he wanted to.

Even today, it fills me with shame how quickly I size my tributes up as though they are cattle to be sold. But at this point, it's habit. Instinct. Even if no one from Twelve has emerged triumphant since me, I have to at least try. I have to mentor them both.

These are mantras I repeat as John and Alexis shake hands and I am escorted with them and Effie to the train:

I have to try. I have to try to get one of them home alive.

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 **A/N: I would love to get hundreds of reviews on this, if I can. So please REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW! Love you all!**


	2. Chapter 2: Flat on My Back

**Chapter 2: Flat on My Back**

A cheer goes up from my colleagues as another tribute meets a gruesome end. I just frown and take a sip from my beer. At least it wasn't mine...

Day 10 of this year's Games. As of right now, only five tributes remain. Alexis is among the survivors. She managed to procure a backpack from the Cornucopia right after the gong went off. Striking out on her own along the island arena, she has hid amongst the palm trees, foraging for food. John also survived the Bloodbath, at least at first. As I predicted, he proved his worth enough to get in with the Careers. On Day 4, however, the leader of the pack - the girl from District 2 - betrayed him, stabbing him in the back with her knife.

As for the five who are still living, the resources have gradually been depleted, both from use and the Gamemakers' manipulation. There is very little fresh water left. Drinking from the sea around the island is out of the question, as it is salty and will only dry out the body faster. And right now, Alexis looks parched. She needs water - and quickly.

I check my funds. It will be expensive. Prices for sponsor gifts go up the longer the Games go on. What buys a whole meal on the first day buys a cracker two weeks in. Even the water that my tribute so desperately needs costs more than the money I currently have on hand. Just then, a Peacekeeper guard approaches me.

"Miss Everdeen, there is a sponsor who would like to see you."

It's like someone read my mind. I follow the guard out of the Mentors' Bar - the place where all previous Victors hang to watch the Games - and a brief hovercraft ride later, I am in one of the Capitol's immaculate hotels. The Peacekeeper leads me to a suite. Inside, the sponsor waits for me. He is well-built, has a handsome face... except for the arrow that pierces through his nostrils and his orange skin. The Peacekeeper leaves us alone.

The sponsor stands from his perch on the couch and approaches. "Miss Everdeen," he shakes my hand. "It is wonderful to finally meet you in person. I have heard... wonderful things about you." He does not elaborate, but I can only imagine what these 'wonderful' things could have been. He continues:

"I have seen your tribute shows amazing promise. But she is thirsty. I am willing to provide whatever funds are necessary to send her fresh water."

"Thank you," I say quietly.

"Of course, there has to be a small... concession on your part," the sponsor continues.

I have to refrain from stiffening. There's the catch. There always is one. "What?"

The sponsor suddenly takes me by my waist and pulls me flush against him. He brazenly begins to grope me. I want to deck him, shoot him through with my bow, but to do so would ruin any chance I have to get Alexis out alive. The sponsor places his face really close to mine. "Kiss me," he whispers huskily.

I try not to retch. "Is that all?" - my most diplomatic way of acknowledging that this man is literally pawing my ass.

"Kiss me as I fuck you in bed," the sponsor amends. "Kiss me as you would kiss your lover."

"I don't have a lover," I frown.

"Well, then, there shouldn't be any conflicts of interest."

I have to do this. It's a part to play, and it may all be fake except for the physical sensations, but this is for Alexis. I have to.

Framing the sponsor's face in my hands, I kiss him with all the tenderness I can muster. We get involved very quickly, the kiss becoming more heated - certainly not out of passion, but out of the understanding that this is just business. Nothing more, nothing less. At least it is for me. The sponsor, I am not so sure. He gropes me further along my ass before squeezing my breasts. His one hand even audaciously grabs at the space between my legs.

Breaking the kiss briefly, I remove my top to reveal a white silky bra. The sponsor lets out an aroused moan, and he seizes me, kissing me so sloppily that his tongue slams down my throat. Repulsed as I am, I close my eyes and let out a fake groan of pleasure. Even I don't buy it though - it sounds pathetic, even to my own ears.

The sponsor throws me down, face-first onto the bed. On my hands and knees on the mattress, I can hear him de-robing behind me. I can feel his hands touching what garments I have left on, pushing my pants down to my ankles. I refuse to cry, or show emotion of any kind. It is both the easiest and yet the hardest part of this disgusting performance I must conduct. Poor little wretch. Doesn't he know he's making love to one already dead?

Hands suddenly spin me around, pushing me down into the mattress. I am now flat on my back. I cannot help but have my eyes betray a deep-seated terror as the sponsor settles on top of me. As I let him take me.

"Mmmmmmm... Uhhhhhhhh... Hmmmmmmm!... Huhhhhhhhhh!" He is not gentle about it, sliding in and out of me violently. His thrusts are jumpy, humpy, frantic; it is as though he has never bedded a woman in his life. I do not look at him, do not kiss him or caress him. I only hold his body close to me, my arms draped across his rippling back, making sure our bodies stay united. I say nothing, staring at the ceiling and counting the tiles until this task is over. It only just dawns on me that he refused to wear a condom. Thank God I keep myself religiously on the pill during Games season! Indeed, at that very moment -

"Guhhhhhhhhhhh!" The sponsor lets forth a noise like none I have heard from man nor even beast as he ejaculates inside me. He wilts like a flower onto my naked, sweaty body, with his head flopping in between my bare breasts. For a moment, he moves no more.

At last, he pulls out. He rises, cleans his member, pulls up his pants. I hear the flutter and jingle of a few coins and bills landing on the mattress near my hip. They are tossed there almost flippantly, discarded just as much as I am now. A piece of trash. A toy that can be thrown away once this child of a man has had his fill playing with it. I hear the door to the suite close, leaving me by myself.

I lie there for a moment - the first moment that I allow my eyes to prick with tears. I wipe them away quickly, though. What's done is done. I have what I need. Alexis's survival ranks higher than the respect I still feel I am due. Despite being a Victor. Despite being a slave. Because even winning the Hunger Games confers on you little respect. No respect at all.

Hurrying back to the Mentors' Bar, I add the sponsor's funds to my pool of cash. Using the key-touch holographic computer, I purchase several bottles of water and send it off into the arena. A few minutes later, I watch as a parched Alexis sees the silver parachute floating down to her. She has to climb a palm tree to retrieve the thing, knocking loose a few coconuts along the way. The milk from them is the only liquid sustenance she has managed to subsist on. Milk is healthy, but it does not beat the cooling power of water - water that Alexis now gulps down. Half of one bottle is gone before she stops, probably remembering to preserve this precious gift as long as she can. The cameras capture Alexis's face looking skyward.

"Thank you, Katniss," she whispers. I smile and relay a silent You're Welcome.

The water keeps my tribute alive for a while longer. The next morning, parrot mutations beak the boy from District 8 to death. The girl from District 10 falls in combat against Alexis.

However, here is where Alexis's luck runs out. She has reached the Top Three when she faces off in a climatic battle against the District 2 girl. Both sustain heavy injuries, but Alexis tragically succumbs to her wounds. It looks as though the Career will be crowned Victor.

That is, until the boy from District 6, who has been hiding this whole time, creeps out of the shadows with a knife and finishes her off.

* * *

 **A/N: Like it so far? Review on every chapter, please. I want to hear what you all think!**


	3. Chapter 3: Twelve's Living Ghost

**Chapter 3: Twelve's Living Ghost**

The train slows to a stop at the District 12 station. Turning to Effie, I give her a parting hug, before stepping off onto the platform. I can hear the locomotive pulling away behind me, but I don't glance back. Better to put it out of my mind as quickly as possible - at least for another year.

The area around the station and along the dirt road that is the District's Main Street is bustling. Despite my celebrity, hardly anyone notices me, or that the train just arrived from the Capitol. The few who do register my presence give me wary glances, perhaps a curt nod here or there. The only thing that would make this isolation less bearable is if I had to come home with the bodies of my failed tributes. Alexis and John will be cleaned up, and their remains sent here for private funerals with their families later on.

The way it has always happened for the last thirteen years.

All at once, I feel a body crash into me at about my stomach. I jump, skittish as a rabbit when I'm jarred from my thoughts. Looking down, I see a crop of black hair, followed by green eyes. The same shade of green as...

"Sorry, Miss Katniss!"

I give the tiniest twitch of a smile. "That's OK, Abel," I say quietly. I watch him run over to his father, Rory Hawthorne - Gale's brother. Rory gives me a cordial nod. In another lifetime, Abel might have been my nephew; Rory always carried a torch for my sister, and the feeling was probably mutual. If she had lived, they would have gotten married.

Sighing, I turn away and trudge up the path to my place of exile - the Victors' Village. An entire section of the district all to my lonesome self. Hardly anyone visits me here. To associate with me at all is practically taboo.

Except for the man who I now see sitting on my mansion's front stoop. Muscular, stocky build. Ashy blond hair. And his eyes as blue as the summer sky...

Peeta Mellark, the Baker, smiles and rises when he sees me approach. "Welcome home!"

I can't help but smile at his attempt to be so chipper, as if I just came home from a vacation and not an abysmal failure. I like Peeta. We've been friends since before I was reaped the first time. He was also the only person who cared to check on me in the wake of my sister's death.

"Don't you have customers waiting?" I tease. I am usually a moody, even surly person, but with Peeta... something about him makes me more playful.

Peeta dismisses this with a wave of his hand. "Barrabus can hold down the fort while I'm gone."

I grin, touched that he took off work to come here. "You didn't have to give me a homecoming..." I mumble, touched.

"Actually, I did have to. If by homecoming, you mean our appointment to fix your oven."

"Oh, shit! I forgot!" I say, sliding past him to the door and putting the key in the lock. I had asked Peeta to fix it just before the Reaping.

"That's all right. I know you've been... busy," he offers up gently. I ignore the unspoken implications hanging in the air, and yet I know Peeta means nothing passive-agressive by this. I find it sweet that he views my job as work that is respectable. I let him pretend, because I know he's doing it for my sake.

I lead Peeta back to the kitchen and show him the oven. He paces once across it, then again, before opening the hatch and peering inside. "Yup, OK. I think I see what the problem is." He readies his toolbox. I take a seat at the kitchen table.

I like watching Peeta work. Even if this particular work does not involve baking bread, he is still really good with his hands. I wonder where he learned to be such a handyman. His father, maybe?

I feel a pang of guilt thinking this. His father. Mother. Two brothers. All of them died in the firebombings of our district after I won the Quarter Quell.

"OK, I think that does it," Peeta announces, slamming the oven door shut. "Let's give her a try." He turns it on, and the machine starts right up. "Bingo!" He then starts looking through the cabinets. I eye him curiously, amused.

"What are you doing?"

"Celebrating," Peeta banters back. And now is when the _real_ fun begins. Peeta sets to work baking. I lose myself in watching him knead the dough he's probably been handling since he was a toddler. All at once, I wonder what his hands feel like. Probably calloused, from all the heat he's been around from the ovens. Strong, yet warm. I can hypothesize that much.

Shaking my head to clear it, I see that Peeta has finished his concoction and put it in the repaired oven. After about twenty minutes during which Peeta and I sit at the table and make small talk, the timer dings. Peeta removes his baking results from the oven.

"Now we know it's up and running!" he says triumphantly. I see what he has completed and smile.

"Cheese buns?"

"Your favorite," he smiles back, setting the pan on the table.

"Well, I know what this calls for..." but I have hardly dived for my wallet when Peeta's voice stops me.

"Oh no you don't!"

"I want to..."

"Absolutely not! This is my treat!"

I try to eye him sternly, but can't help the smirk forcing its way onto my face. "Peeta: you know how I hate owing someone."

"Yes, and I also know how great you are at trading. So how about this: I come watch you hunt in the woods, and we'll call it even. Deal?"

It doesn't sound like a fair trade to me. There should be more that I could do. Like pay him! But, I'll take what I can get. I stand.

"Sure. I was just about to go out anyway. Come on." I don my father's hunting jacket and grab my bow and game bag, knowing that Peeta will follow me.


	4. Chapter 4: See Them Every Night

**Chapter 4: See Them Every Night**

I line up my shot, training my line of vision right down the wood of the arrow and to the squirrel nibbling on a nut several yards away. For a moment, I squint one eye shut, to get my prey in focus, but then I remember my father's advice from when I was a little girl. _Keep both eyes open when you shoot - you'll see twice as well._

I fire. The squirrel looks up just in time to see the tip of my arrow go right through its iris. The silence of the woods is broken by clapping.

"Bravo, sweetheart! Right in the eye - every time!"

I brush away the endearing nickname with a laugh. Peeta has called me that since we were children. It annoyed me at first, but eventually I rolled with it. No, what surprises me more is his praise. He knows that I always shoot squirrels right through the eye, making for the cleanest kill? I am surprised that Peeta even cared to notice how precisely I killed the squirrels. I glance away. "Thanks."

I sense Peeta rise from his perch on a log and come over to me. "I know that look," he says. "You're grieving."

I try to brush him away. "No, I just..."

"They were good tributes this year, Katniss. They just... fell short, is all. None of it is your fault, you know."

I turn my gaze back to him, eyes sad. Foolish boy! He thinks that I am blameless. But then again, that's Peeta. He's never done anything but praise me; in fact, I cannot think of a time when he had a harsh word for _anyone_. I shake my head to clear it.

"Let's... focus on something else. Like how I'm going to teach you to shoot."

Peeta lets out a bark of laughter. " _Me_? You sure about this, sweetheart?"

"Completely. Here:" I place the bow in his hands and then manipulate him to get into a proper stance. "Raise your shooting arm, up like that... streamlined." I place my hands on his hips to guide his feet. "One foot slightly in front of the other. It helps with balance." I then press my palm into the small of his back, to streamline his posture and get rid of the hunch. "Now, breathe..." I can feel his diaphragm expand under my hands where I have kept them. "Both eyes open... you'll see twice as well... On the exhale... release."

Peeta fires, sending the arrow sailing into the trunk of a dogwood tree.

"Not bad!" I smile. I glance to him to realize he is looking back to me. I am vaguely aware that my hands have still not left his torso. I feel my eyes suddenly grow heavy. "Not bad at all..." I almost whisper. I wait... for... what? Something? I feel nothing, not that physical sensation that I suddenly yearn for, but my fuzzy brain cannot identify.

I open my eyes and retract my hands from Peeta's waist, embarrassed. He clears his throat, depositing the bow next to my game bag.

"Can I show you something?" he suddenly asks. I glance up too quickly, surprised. "It's back at the bakery," Peeta explains. And taking my hand, he leads me out of the woods.

* * *

Mellark's Bakery is closed and darkened by the time we reach it. Peeta lets us in through the back loading dock just off the alley. Crossing down a thin hallway, he turns at one door to his left. I follow him down the flight of stairs beyond into what must be the basement. As soon as Peeta flicks on the overhead light, I gasp.

Easel after easel takes up almost the entire floor space. But it is what is _on_ the easels that takes my breath away.

Peeta has painted the Games.

And not just mine, although I do see some key moments - scenes in which I am the key player. There I am dropping the tracker jacker nest on the Careers during the 74th Games. And there I am with Haymitch and our allies, fighting the District 2 Victors on the rocky beach of the 75th Games. Beyond that are images that I did not act in, but I observed and that still haunt me to this day. Like the moment during the 83rd Games when my boy tribute, Ray Kunze, was crushed to death in a rockslide. Or the 77th Games - my second year mentoring - when my female protégé Lorelai Bledel made the Final Eight, only to have her ally betray her and strangle her. The paints and colors jump off the page. The images themselves almost look alive, or at least as if they were captured by a camera.

"What do you think?" Peeta asks the question tentatively, and I realize I have been silent for a few minutes.

I turn back to him, my eyes prickling with tears. "I hate them," I get out, though this is absolutely insincere. Indeed, I actually feel a smile grace my mouth. "How did you paint them so _exactly_?"

"I see them every night."

I blink, thrown by his honest answer. "How can you have nightmares? You weren't in the Games."

"No. But you were. And I know _you_ must have nightmares. I thought….. it might be therapeutic for you."

The only thing more shocking than Peeta having nightmares over an event he hasn't even been a part of is the fact that he painted all these chillingly accurate images for _me_. To help me cope. And, in a strange sort of way, they have. Or at least, have set me on that eventual path. Also, I had no idea Peeta even painted, in addition to baking. He's so talented! Is there anything he can't do? My awe at his abilities makes me realize he would be quite the catch for any woman in this district. A kind and decent man who works hard and makes an honest living. You can't say that about every man in Twelve. Yet, I have never seen Peeta with so much as a girlfriend. Or any woman. My curiosity gets the better of me, and I blurt out, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Fire away," he shrugs.

"... Why didn't you ever marry?"

Peeta stares at me for a moment, his brow furrowing at the query. He takes his own sweet time in answering, and even when he does, he only half-meets my gaze. "I did have someone… I wanted to… but she never seemed open to the idea. Had other priorities."

My face falls, and I feel a pang of hurt for him. "Oh... I'm sorry."

He brushes my concern away. "It's not your fault."


	5. Chapter 5: Lightning in a Bottle

**Chapter 5: Lightning in a Bottle**

The next year goes by in the blink of an eye. Before I know it, it is the morning of the 89th Hunger Games Reaping. This year, I rise unfashionably early, long before the Peacekeepers will arrive to escort me to the Justice Building. And I have good reason to.

This year is the 15th anniversary of my first win, and also the 15th anniversary of Gale Hawthorne's death. Many of my hunting partner's old friends and customers have thrown together a small memorial in the Fallen Tributes Graveyard. It's the best we can do. The Capitol wouldn't publicly sanction such a commemoration; they would probably find some way to dub it as treason.

But first, I have to stop by Mellarks' Bakery to pick up some bread - a packet for home, and another packet for the road to the Capitol. In the past year, Peeta and I have grown even closer as friends. He often comes and visits me in Victors' Village, especially during those times when I have PTSD flashbacks.

Today, Peeta has opened up early just for me. He allows me back behind the counter as he goes to retrieve the bread, before passing them off to me.

"We're having a small gathering at the graveyard. For remembering Gale's death. You wanna come?"

He shakes his head, and I can tell he is grappling with sad emotions of his own. "No thanks."

"Well... are you at least coming to the train station?"

"I think you've got enough people saying goodbye without me there."

I shrug morosely. I wonder if he's feeling this cold because he misses me while I'm at the Games. "It's only a few weeks. I'll be back before you know it."

"You _always_ come back. Now, go on. Don't let me keep you from your Seam hero."

I bristle slightly at this bitterness, this anger I see coming to the surface. This isn't like Peeta. Except whenever I mention... of course. "Are we gonna do this again? Peeta, the Star-Crossed Lovers thing was an act."

"Yeah, and it was a damn good one."

"I did what I had to do to survive. If I didn't, I'd be dead!"

His hands cup my face without warning, and he presses his lips to mine. I feel the slightest shock go through my body, but it is gone as quickly as it appeared. My eyes droop shut almost instantly as I gently relax into the kiss. I even let out something of a moan into Peeta's mouth: "Hmmmmmmm..." He draws away slowly, the smacking sound of our lips disengaging palpable in the silence of the bakery. Still, I stare at him in almost disbelief.

"I had to do that. At least once." And then he turns to head into the back of the shop. I take my leave.

As I hurry through the already-muggy morning back towards Victors Village and the memorial, I have time to slow my spinning brain down and think. I ponder how I feel about the kiss, whether I liked it or resented it. No... I _enjoyed_ it... Peeta is a good kisser... and his lips tasted like freshly baked bread...

I collect myself as I enter the Village, where a crowd has already gathered around the Fallen Tributes' Graveyard. Greasy Sae, one of Gale's and my frequent customers in the Hob, says a few kind words. Then, a mining buddy of Gale's lays down his mining helmet next to the headstone. I follow suit with a bushel of katniss, the flower for which I was named. I was going to dig up Gale's old bow and leave that, but decided against it, afraid the Peacekeepers would get a hold of it.

That is all. I quickly shoo everyone away and retreat into my mansion; the Peacekeepers will be here soon. When my escort arrives, they appear surprised that I am up, ready and waiting for them, but no questions are asked. We simply conduct our annual walk to the square in silence. I see Peeta amongst the crowd - attendance of the Reaping is required - but he doesn't meet my gaze. I glance away, crestfallen, and take my seat. Before I know it, Effie is approaching the podium. Did I fall asleep for the Dark Days speech, or was I just hopelessly tuned out?

"Welcome! Welcome! The time has come to select one young man and young woman for the honor of representing District Twelve in the 89th Annual Hunger Games! As always: ladies first." She plucks a paper for the Girls. "Bridget Etheridge!"

 _That practically rhymes. The poor gal_ , I think, as I watch a skinny little thing of 14 take the stage. Effie moves on to the Boys.

"Dean Cronin!"

There is movement from the 16-year-olds. A lad who looks to be Seam emerges to take his place on the stone steps. Tall. Stocky. Dark hair. His face is drawn in a tight line. He's a looker in his own right, and I know there will be some sponsor who might take an interest in him. That is, if he makes it far enough - a skill set I have yet to determine.

Bridget and Dean shake hands and they, along with Effie and I, are escorted to the train. In the crunch of the crowd that do come to see us off on the locomotive, I scan for Peeta. There is no sign of him. Feeling a hole in my heart, I try not to let any tears show as we are practically shoved aboard, and I am bound for the Capitol once again.

* * *

The train ride passes by in silence at first. Our little quartet digs into the meal the Avoxes provide us, if nothing else to break the awkward tension. Better to be doing something than nothing at all. I wait. Usually, the way I work is to let the tributes come to me with questions. I can't help them if they don't open up to me, and I can't force them to. That has to be something they do on their own.

Dean is finally the first to break the ice. "So: how do we win?"

I eye him, almost blankly. "You don't."

He scowls. "Well, that's _very_ encouraging of you..." His voice dripping with sarcasm.

"You don't _win_. You _survive_. And those are two _very_ different things."

Dean placates his hands in mock surrender, though I can tell he appreciates my astute clarification. I study him more closely. I've seen him before, around town, and sometimes even the Hob. Though I admit, it has been a few years. "You're the butcher's son, aren't you?"

Dean shrugs and nods. Despite being very non-emotive, I sense that my observation has pleased him.

"Used any meat cleavers?"

He nods, his enthusiasm the strongest I have seen thus far.

"Simpler knives?"

"All kinds."

"Good. Be prepared to have those in the arena. A meat cleaver might be even more preferable, but there's no guarantee the Gamemakers will provide a weapon that specific." Another thought strikes me. "Oh: and whatever you do, don't use any knives or blades whatsoever in training."

Dean frowns. "Why not? Shouldn't I be intimidating the competition?"

"Not as much as you should be leaving them in the dark about your skills. And also taking the training as an opportunity to learn new ones," I explain. "Handle weapons you've never used or seen before. Learn how to build a fire. Study the edible plants and practice with snares."

Dean nods, impressed by my breadth of knowledge. I turn to the girl, Bridget. "What can you do?"

She folds a little into herself, perhaps shy or intimidated by being here. "Not much. I can run really fast. I won the Sprinting Competition at school. But that's nothing."

"It's not nothing," I encourage, trying to give her some faith. "Sometimes, evading means even more than standing your ground in a fight. If you can outrun the competition..."

"And I can hide really well," Bridget interrupts.

I go with it. "Even better. And you're small enough that the bigger tributes might overlook you. All the same, I would spend Training mastering some weaponry and learning hand-to-hand combat. Running and hiding are fine, but they won't last forever. Eventually, you'll have to fight."

Bridget pales at this prognosis, but tries to be brave, nodding as shortly as Dean.

I return to my meal, trying not to give anything away on my face. And especially not any pain. For I think I already know how this Games is going to go. At least I have some idea.

And for one of my tributes, it isn't good.

* * *

 **A/N: Dean Cronin is a composite character, from two of my favorite Hunger Games fics - Dean Rivers from _She's a Survivor That One_ by BookNinja93, and Rafe Cronin from _Once a Victor, Never a Winner_ by alatariel-gildaen. **


	6. Chapter 6: Training and Interviews

**Chapter 6: Training and Interviews**

I can't explain it, but somehow the lead-up proceedings to the Games seem to go faster with each passing year. Dean and Bridget are sent to their stylists to be pampered and preened. They emerge as fiery emblems. At least it's better than lumps of coal.

As I load my tributes into the chariots, I can see that Dean has already become stoic, his face a hard, determined stare. It almost reminds me of Haymitch...

And this furthers my resolve that I have to place my hopes in Dean to win.

Sitting in the stands with the other mentors, I can tell that the commentators and many Capitolites have taken an interest in Dean. A few comments are thrown out about Bridget, but they never go beyond that she's cute. And cute in a little kid way - an assessment that does me no good. As soon as the chariots come to a halt after President Snow's space, I whisk my tributes into the Training Center.

Their grooming as killers begins the next day. Over the course of the next three days, Dean and Bridget report back to me what they have been learning. Both follow my advice down to a T. And it must pay off, for when the Training Scores are announced, Bridget pulls a respectable 8. Dean nets a 9, putting him right in with the Careers.

That fourth night is the night of the Tribute interviews. Caesar is as dynamic a host as ever, putting the more reticent tributes and especially Bridget at ease. When Dean takes the stage, his cocky, almost indifferent performance that we practiced reminds me eerily of Haymitch. I wonder if the old geezer has been reincarnated in this boy, somehow.

* * *

I rise early that final morning to see them both off. I hug Bridget a little extra tightly; though I say no words, chances are I will never see her again alive. I hug Dean just as long, to keep up appearances of equality, but do not resist from whispering in his ear: "Concentrate. You can do this." I dare not convey anything more, but I don't have to. Dean reads me like a book, and he nods once. I see him steal an almost pitying glance at Bridget, before both stride out onto the Center's roof and board the hovercraft.

After waiting until the plane is nothing more than a speck in the sky, I leave the roof. Meeting Effie on our floor, she escorts me down to the Mentors' Bar.

The place is noisy and raucous, as usual. I silently take a seat at the bar, accepting a bottle of scotch on the rocks. I make no conversational overtures to anyone, and none are returned. My fellow Victors are well aware of my lack of social skills, and as such, considerately leave me be, for the most part. The fact that I am District 12's only surviving champion lends a certain mysticism to my solitude as well. Only one person addresses me with a hello. I blandly say hi back.

The clock strikes 10:00 AM, and the TV screens lining the wall above the bar come alive. An almighty cheer goes up from some of the more bloodthirsty Victors. I sip my drink, a nervous habit as I watch the tributes rise into the arena. Having something like a glass to distract myself helps me not to obsess over when my tributes fall. The cameras capture Dean, staring down the smattering of backpacks with determination. I cannot see Bridget, but only pray she is not having a panic attack.

The gong sounds, and the tributes move as one, sprinting for the Cornucopia set in the middle of what looks to be an abandoned lumberyard. Dean grabs one of the furthest backpacks out, but then shocks me as he braves going in deeper.

"No... no... you idiot, get out of there!" I feel the terror rising within me.

Fortunately, I needn't have worried. Once Dean gets his hands on a - my God! - meat cleaver, he holds his own. He manages to slice down the boy from 5, then sidestepping an attack from the boy from 3. Dean does not even bother to strike this latter opponent, opting instead to high-tail it out of there, disappearing amidst the piles of dirt, logs and even trash.

Bridget is not so lucky. As she told me on the train, she's fast, and manages to reach a backpack. Trouble is, she's not fast enough to run out of the rapidly congesting bodies. Caught in the traffic, a flash of silver runs across her stomach and she coughs up blood before keeling over. I hear the cannon, the fourth so far.

Ignoring the cheers from other Victors over my tribute's demise, I stare into my drink. I knew Bridget wasn't going to make it. She was too young. And frankly, too scared.

The Bloodbath has begun in earnest now. Interestingly, most have stayed to fight; Dean and maybe only one other have made it both in and out. The cameras cut to my male tribute briefly - he's still moving at a jog. But the real action is still at the horn, where there is kill after kill, death after death. The cannons sound like a chorus, or at least the steady beat of a drum. When the movement stops, I see all six Careers alive and covered in gore, standing back-to-back in a kind of posse ring. They took down most of the competition in one stroke. Christ... how many died?

"We're at the Final Eight!" someone calls out, reporting from the live feed on her datapad.

"Already?!" Terra Kinnimoth, a seventy-something Victor from District 1 gawks.

"Oh, poo! This Games isn't gonna be _any_ fun!" grouses Gideon, a twenty-something from District 9; he won only a few years back.

I go through the tally in my head. "All six Careers... and Dean... who else is left?"

"Mine," Logan Backwoodsman of District 7 points to his male tribute. He looks to be about 15, scaling the structure of an old railroad bridge. "I guess this means the interviews will be happening a little early this year. For the Final Eight."

And indeed they will, for a pair of Peacekeepers suddenly enter the Bar. "Miss Everdeen," they approach me. "Would you please come with us? Your presence has been requested."

"Sponsors already?" I hope the hoops I have to jump through won't be too awful.

"No, for an interview," one Peacekeeper informs me.

This new information is even more surprising than the thought of sponsors lining up for Dean. Why would they need me for a Final Eight interview? They're supposed to be for family and friends only.

I am guided down a series of hallways until I reach a small room with cameras and a green screen. In one chair sits Caesar Flickerman.

"Katniss, my dear! Always a pleasure to see you," he shakes my hand.

"You as well, Caesar," I smile. "Although... I'm curious as to why I'm here."

"To talk about Dean Cronin, of course! Impressive the way he got out of there, and with that meat cleaver! My, my, my! Only you can speak for him, as he has no family."

I gape, taken aback. "Dean's an orphan?"

"He didn't tell you?"

"No." All orphans in District 12 go into the Community Home. I always feared that place especially when my mother was ill after my father's death. There were rumors that orphans stood a greater chance of being Reaped. Perhaps that explains Dean's forced enlistment in this death match? How could I not have known? Dean never shared his past with me, but surely I would have noticed he was in the Community Home? I guess I never did.

This knowledge gives me the resolve to deliver an enthusiastic message on Dean's behalf. After a few questions, Caesar thanks me and I take my leave. I don't bother going back to the Mentors' Bar, instead returning to my quarters on the twelfth floor of the Training Center. Unless something really bizarre happens, the chances of another death during the night are pretty small. There's been plenty of bloodshed, and the pool is so culled already.

I fall asleep feeling less insomnia than I normally do during Games season.


	7. Chapter 7: Guardian Angel

**Chapter 7: Guardian Angel**

As I predicted, the next morning and all the rest of that day is quiet. No deaths. And no Gamemaker traps. All we Victors do is watch the remaining tributes get dumped on in a downpour of rain. It's only water, and who knows how valuable it could be as sustenance? Nevertheless, I am proud of Dean not taking any chances, finding shelter underneath a pile of logs to prevent hypothermia.

The only other interesting points of entertainment are watching the talking heads coverage by Caesar and his partner, Claudius Templesmith. Occasionally, they go out and interview Capitol fans. Many are disappointed that the Final Eight has been reached so quickly, as it has resulted in a spike of prices within the gambling pool. Most citizens are satisfied with the carnage so far, but hope more comes soon and quickly. The stupidity of these people and their desire for bloodshed still never fails to nauseate me. It's barely been one day, and they're already growing restless?

On the third day, the Careers finally venture beyond the safety of the Cornucopia, hunting for Dean and the boy from Seven. Having such little prey to track, however, the group quickly becomes bored. This idleness gives way to tense interactions, which eventually explode into a disagreement over food rationing. Blades are drawn, overpowering any attempt at reasoning, as the Careers now turn on each other. When the burst of violence halts, half of the six lie dead: the boy from 1, and the girls from 2 and 4. The outcome is not surprising - those three were the dead wood of the pack - but the trigger-happy drawing causes many Victors to groan.

"Too fast... they're moving too fast..." grumbles Norman, a Victor from District 10. "Someone get Plutarch on the phone and tell him to slow it down!"

"It's not Plutarch's fault. There hasn't been a Gamemaker trap yet; it's been all on the tributes!" I point out. Nevertheless, I feel worried. The curdling of the field is almost _too_ fast for a standard Games. It only makes me wonder how much time Dean has left.

The rest of that day passes without incident. On the day following, the Gamemakers send up plumes of fire from the peat-like earth, nearly barbecuing the boy from District 4. Some Victor must finally get a hold of Plutarch and give the Head Gamemaker what for, as it isn't long before the fire blasts stop.

The fifth night of the Games, it is bitterly cold. Watching the cameras, I can see Dean shivering dangerously, curling himself into the fetal position to try and preserve his body heat. His log hide-out won't be enough to shield him from the chill and other elements. He needs a lighter to start a fire, and perhaps even a sweater to trap what little warmth he has left.

Determined to help my apprentice, I flag down an Avox and hand her a note I have scribbled down. "Make the rounds with the sponsors and see if... there might be any interest."

She nods wordlessly, and leaves the Bar. I hate performing sexual favors to curry gifts, but the stakes are too high for me to employ any other angle. I only hope whoever gets to fuck me for free is at least not an ass about it, like that orange dude from last year. After a few moments, the Avox returns, with a man in Gamemakers' robes by her side.

"Miss Everdeen," the Gamemaker smiles. "Your offer has been submitted, but I feel it won't be necessary. A pool of money just came in from District 12. It will pay for the items you requested."

I blink in surprise. It is not unheard of for raised funds to come in from a district. In fact, it's quite common. Districts can pool their resources to buy critical supplies for a tribute. It usually happens late in the Games when the prices are high. No, what _is_ uncommon about it all is that District 12 has managed to do so. We're one of the poorest districts in Panem, if not _the_ poorest. And most of our tributes do not get far enough in the arena to merit a critical intercession like this. I wonder how my neighbors came up with such money, and more importantly, who. Who could have raised so much _that_ quickly? Regardless, I accept the gifts and send them off to Dean immediately, hoping I am not too late...


	8. Chapter 8: This is My Stop

**Chapter 8: This is My Stop**

The lighter and sweater are critical. Indeed, they probably save Dean's life. With warmth and enough tools to make a small fire, Dean manages to last through the night.

Unfortunately, the fire brings more than just temporary salvation. As Day 6 in the arena dawns...

"Look, it's Twelve! Come on, let's get him!" The boy from District 4 leads his remaining lackeys in a brazen ambush of my tribute. Dean runs, fleeing through the lumberyard. The Careers eventually pursue him back to the base of the old railroad bridge. On one side sits an imposing stack of logs and lumber - the highest I've seen in the arena. In fact, it piles so high as to almost reach the level of the bridge.

Dean has no choice. He begins to climb. Watching him scale such an intimidating structure makes even the Career's leader take pause. But not the boy from District 2. He is starved for blood.

"Cut him off! Cut him off!" District 2 runs around the pile, and begins to scale from the opposite side. Scrambling over the logs and dodging occasional protrusions of bramble, Dean does not notice the impending danger. He beats the District 2 boy to the top of the heap, and pauses to catch his breath, preparing himself to try and reach the bridge.

Dean's brief rest is almost his undoing.

The District 2 boy must be in remarkable shape, for he lunges at Dean without even slowing down or appearing winded from his ascent. He slashes a longsword down towards Dean's head, but Dean parries with his meat cleaver just in time. There is a moment in which the blades are locked, suspended in space. The pressure from District 2 is making Dean lean back. But finally, Dean throws his body into repelling the assault, so hard that he makes his opponent lose his balance. Dean takes advantage of the moment. Getting a hold of the District 2 boy's arm, my tribute casts the enemy off the log pile. In fact, the motion causes an avalanche of logs, which the butcher's son barely avoids.

"Fuck!" yells the boy from Four. And he makes a break for it. The girl from District 1 isn't so lucky, and is crushed under the falling lumber. The District 2 boy lands amidst the debris. There's no way he's alive... not from that height...

Indeed, two cannons sound only moments later. BOOM. BOOM.

Still on top of what is left of the log pile, Dean shakily stands, doing his best to regain control of his breathing. Seeing how close he is to reaching the bridge, he leaps for a support beam and manages to clamber onto it. Inching along this, Dean scales the remainder and finally hauls himself up onto the tracks.

I must say, I've never seen an arena environment quite as interesting as this one. Sitting atop the bridge are two rusty railroad cars, coupled up to an even more dilapidated locomotive. The tracks must run on some kind of incline, perhaps due to effects from the earth below, for Dean has to trek up to the cars. Choosing the one closest to the engine, he scrambles inside to hide. I watch him so intently, I don't notice where he places his feet...

Dean takes a seat inside the railroad car. He doesn't need to nurse any wounds, thank God, but I can tell he is still weary from his battle with the boy from 2.

Suddenly, there is a CRACK as the cars come loose from the engine. Being on an incline, they begin to roll away, quickly gaining in speed and heading for the wooded trees lining the cliff that overlooks the lumberyard and Cornucopia. Dean is jolted from his place. Realizing his predicament, he can only hold onto a railing and pray the speed of the runaway train doesn't kill him.

All at once, a figure drops down from a hatch in the car's roof. Dean only notices out of the corner of his eye, as he has been watching the surroundings flash by. He doesn't even need to turn his head to know who it is. The boy from District 4.

District 4 only stands there, knives in hand and ready to attack. "This is my stop," he jokes, and I cringe at the morbidity behind the comment.

"My stop, too," Dean replies gruffly, still refusing to look at his greatest threat.

"HEY!" Who should appear from the next car but the boy from District 7. I had almost completely forgotten about him. He now throws an axe, which District 4 dodges before hurling a knife back. The knife finds its mark in stomach flesh, and District 7 crumples to the floor.

Dean takes the chance. In the momentary distraction, he dives for the car's emergency brake and pulls. The sudden stoppage of the train sends both remaining tributes toppling to the rotting wood.

As District 4 stumbles to his feet, Dean charges and punches him full in the face. District 4 staggers back into a metal column. Dean grabs for his knife and begins to bash his enemy's arm into the metal, trying to shake the weapon loose. District 4 flings his arm and smacks Dean in the face, but my protege goes for it again, twisting District 4's arm back so far, he cries out in pain. This action loosens the knife just enough for Dean to wrest it away. He punches District 4 in the face again, then kicks him in the stomach, before finally clubbing him over the head with the knife's hilt.

District 4 is now unconscious. Dean take the opportunity to search the dead body of the boy from Seven. He happens to find a pair of handcuffs on the corpse. Pilfering them, Dean then drags the District 4 boy to a railing and chains his opponent to it, trapping him like a mouse. Getting right in the boy's face, Dean growls, "You missed your stop!" before beheading his final adversary in one clean stroke. The cannon sounds.

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the Victor of the 89th Annual Hunger Games: Dean Cronin, of District 12!"

The Mentors' Bar is ballistic, many of my colleagues coming up to me and shaking my hand in congratulations. I respond in a daze. For the first time in fifteen years, I am not alone.

I did it. I produced a Victor. I got a tribute out of the arena alive.


	9. Chapter 9: Trades Must Be Fair

**Chapter 9: Trades Must Be Fair**

Dean's victory celebration and final interview with Caesar Flickerman go by in a blur. Before I know it, I am on the train home and accompanied for the first time in a decade and a half. Dean is silent the whole way back; he seems almost sour. I begin to fear if I can control my new Victor. He cannot show so much anger, and especially not at the Capitol; Snow and his minions would only destroy such machinations.

As the train pulls into the District 12 station, I look out the windows to see it is the most packed it has been since I returned from my first win in the 74th Games. People are crowding the platform, and many more have taken to climbing the rooftops just to get a glimpse of their brand-new Victor - only our homeland's fourth overall.

As soon as the doors open, hands grab for Dean and yank him into the crowd. I quickly follow, not wanting to let my apprentice out of my sight, but I am intercepted. By Peeta.

"Katniss! You did it! YOU WON! I _knew_ you could do it! I just _knew_ you could!" He picks me up and spins me around. I find myself shrieking with delighted laughter, flinging my arms around his neck to keep from going flying. At last, the Baker sets me down. We eye each other and exchange small smiles. For my part, I am relieved. Gone are the cool interactions from before the Reaping.

"Welcome home," Peeta smiles. Something about his gaze is unusually intense, even behind that blinding smile, and I glance away... to see that Peacekeepers are beginning to load canvasses onto the train. The images depicted are ones I recognize. I turn back to Peeta, confused.

"Your paintings..."

He shrugs. "I sold them to the Capitol."

"But... how? Why?" And then it all clicks. "The money you got from it... that went to helping Dean, didn't it? That's how the funds were raised so quickly."

Peeta's eyes flit away, and he nods almost guiltily. I stare down at the ground, my eyes filling up with tears. Overwhelmed is all that can be used to describe what I feel at this moment.

"Come here," I get out, emotional, my voice cracking. Taking Peeta's hand, I drag him through the crowd, then away from it. Away from anyone who might see or be nosy. I don't stop until I reach the back alley behind the Mellark Bakery.

"Katniss, what are you...? Mmmm!"

I pull Peeta's face down to mine and silence him with the most passionate kiss I can muster. It only takes a moment before I feel Peeta's lips press back into my own. He ghost his tongue over my lower lip, and I open to him. His tongue slithers past my teeth and intertwines with mine.

"Hmmmmmmmmm..." I moan sensuously, closing my eyes as I encircle my arms about Peeta's waist and pull him close. Sparks heat my hips that Peeta now clutches in his hands. I feel hot, almost burning, though strangely I feel cool only in the space between my legs, now flooded by my juices.

Curious, even if a little self-conscious (Peeta's only the second man I've ever kissed), I slink one hand past Peeta's waistline. I clasp his length through his pants, between my fingers. I awkwardly pump his shaft, almost mortified over how poor of a job I must be doing.

So it comes as a complete shock when Peeta growls into my mouth. His nails dig into my hips and he suddenly thrusts his pelvis into mine, gallingly humping my center.

"Mmmmm! Mmmmm!" My squeals are muffled by our deepening kiss, and I spring out of our locked embrace, retracing my hand. "OK... let's... just stick with kissing... for now..."

Peeta smiles, as if he had predicted I would react this way to such a sensation. Cupping his hands around my face, rubbing his thumb along my cheeks, he leans in. My eyes droop closed, and our lips meet once more. I drape my arms languidly about Peeta's neck, smiling into the kiss.

And as I kiss this man, and as Peeta kisses me back just as enthusiastically, I thank every star above for my Baker-turned-new-lover. For paintings. For the tribute my paramour saved with those paintings. Oh yeah, and for cheese buns.


	10. Chapter 10: Peeta, Will You Marry Me?

**Chapter 10: Peeta, Will You Marry Me?**

After sharing that kiss upon my return from the Games, Peeta and I enter into a relationship. Throughout our first touches, hand-holding and stolen kisses, I feel awkward. I've never been in a romantic partnership before. Yes, Gale and I pretended to be lovers to gain sympathy from sponsors in my first Games, but it never was real for me. Gale was more like my brother.

Peeta, of course, is different. Every time his hands are on my body, or his lips on mine, I feel like I am being heated in one of his baking ovens. I slip away to the Bakery as often as I can, always making sure to go when the Bakery is either closed or Peeta is sequestered away in his office. One night, I even dare to spend the night with him, making sure to steal back to Victors' Village long before sunrise. Though we do not embark on anything sexual in that encounter. It was a rule I established early on, that we not make love until we are both ready. We agree to keep our new whirlwind romance a secret from the rest of the District. People would surely talk, and if word got back to the Capitol... I shudder to think what might happen. Only one person discovers us - my apprentice, Dean. He happened in through the back of the Bakery one day, to pick up an order, when he came upon Peeta and I kissing heatedly in the storeroom. I flushed red as a beet when I saw the young man, mouth open in shock.

"Dean, you can't tell anyone. Otherwise, I shoot you with my bow. Am I clear?" The threat was of course made in jest, but Dean readily agreed to be sworn to secrecy.

The months pass. Before long, snow has blanketed the district. The colder it gets, the colder my heart becomes from nerves.

The Victory Tour was something I've never worried about since the days of my wins, because I never had a Victor whom I needed to guide through it. But now, I will be responsible for formally inducting Dean into the Capitol way of life and into the Victors ranks. His cocky manner is actually the least of my problems. I am more anxious that Snow might punish Dean and his victory to punish me, for getting a tribute out alive. Ever since the Second Rebellion failed, I know the President has strived to brand me a failure in everything I do - especially in mentoring the Games. I wonder if all the years I watched both tributes die was due to the arenas being rigged against District 12? But if that's so, then how did Dean break the system? These thoughts might sound paranoid, but when you have an omnipresent, perhaps even omnipotent government, no scenario seems too far-fetched. No theory too conspiratorial.

Thankfully, I have a boyfriend who is deeply in love with me, and who I love just as passionately in return. Plus, it helps that Peeta has always been a natural listener and confidant, even before we became romantically involved. Now as a couple, I find myself divulging even more of my deepest thoughts and fears to him. The rational part of me wonders if I am foolish to share such secrets with him - the more Peeta knows, the higher the chances that the Capitol will make him a target. But I need to confide in _someone_. Otherwise, I'm sure I will go mad. Then again, perhaps this yearly death match between children has driven me mad already.

So it is one evening in the bakery, after dark and long after closing time. "The Victory Tour is in a few weeks. I mean... is there anything I need to prepare? As the Mentor? God, I wish Haymitch was here!" I rack my brain, trying to remember what Haymitch did to prep me when I won the first time, if he needed to at all. "And then... leaving you... I'm sorry."

Peeta pecks my lips with a chaste kiss. "It's definitely not what I'm used to. I'll miss you. But don't worry about me, sweetheart; I'll be fine. I think you should be more concerned about yourself."

"No. Dean is who I should be worried about. What if he steps out of line at one of the stops? What if the Capitol creates some excuse to punish him?"

"You're making it sound as if whatever Dean does points directly back to you. It doesn't," Peeta chides me gently.

I snap my head up and shake it vigorously. "You don't know these people, Peeta. I led a Rebellion against the Capitol! I'm a pariah! Most of my colleagues don't even speak to me. I know Snow has wanted me to fail even at this, being one of his precious Victors. Saving Dean is just another way of beating him."

"Except _you_ didn't beat him. Dean did. By beating the arena. Dean beat the Games."

"But I _helped_ him to! And a lot of that is thanks to you and your wonderful..." Still thinking of his gesture and the money he raised makes me emotional, to the point where I grab him and kiss him soundly. "Thank you." I dab at the tears welling up in my eyes.

Peeta studies me for a moment before finally clasping his hands together. "OK, I have to jump in here. I know you think you have this thing gripping you by the tail, but I can help." He begins to pace around the shop. "We know the Victor has to make speeches while on the Tour. I don't know how naturally that comes to Dean, but he should still practice with public speaking. So first off, I know how to make a good sales pitch from dealing with my customers. We bring Dean by here, and I could drill him on how to speak calmly and eloquently. As for his attitude, we lock him up in his mansion in Victors Village, and give him a parental Fear-of-God speech, because you can talk him into this. You can talk _anybody_ into _anything_!..."

As Peeta continues his diatribe, I find myself smiling at his compliment to me. Then, I register what he is saying, what he is planning. He is willing to get himself involved in these dangerous games (because the Games never truly stay within the confines of any arena)... for Dean? This realization fills me with bubbly happiness, and I suddenly find myself staring at Peeta adoringly.

"... but either way, Dean will _not_ take the fall! He earned this! _You_ earned this! I am not going to let any of this bad stuff happen!" He pauses when he realizes I am staring at him, filled with love. "What?"

"Peeta will you marry me?"

A beat, and then he breathes out, "What?"

I get down on one knee before him. I know this is a little unorthodox, the woman asking the man, and I have no ring. But I don't care. I'm in love. "Peeta... will you...?"

"Yes."

"Well, you don't have to answer so…

"Yes."

"We can take a minute to…."

"No." Peeta suddenly grins and exits into the back of the bakery. I blink, utterly baffled.

"Exactly the reaction I was looking for..." I mumble facetiously.

Peeta returns with a little box. A ring box. "I, uh... bought this... years ago... I should probably get a new one..."

I stare in astonishment, before tenderly smiling. "Don't you dare," I grin. I stand and let Peeta slip the ring on my finger.

"You know, you were the one who I wanted to marry all along." Peeta admits, blushing.

I gasp, and stare at him in disbelief, flashing back to our conversation in the basement. Peeta laughs at my reaction. "It's like I said: you never seemed open to the idea."

"Well, I was a different woman then." He's right of course. Even before the Games, but especially after, I swore that I would never marry. But then, Peeta opened my heart. Even so, taking me as his wife is a risky bet for Peeta, given my status. Victors marrying is not ubiquitous, but it's not rare, either. Cecelia Sanchez, a Victor from District 8 who fought and died in the Third Quarter Quell, was married. Had three children, too. And though I might not be able to fulfill the bearing-children part, who's to say I can't be Peeta's wife?

"Just so you know, the only way out of this is in a body bag," Peeta cracks.

"Hmm," I purr, actually amused by the morbidity when I should be anything but. "And now we don't have to write our vows." And then, we share a long kiss.


	11. Chapter 11: Baptism by Fire

**Chapter 11: Baptism by Fire**

With Peeta's coaching, Dean is able to successfully navigate his Victory Tour. Of course, the real test was meeting with the President at the end of the entire thing, but I sensed that Snow did not hold any ill will towards my pupil. As we finally arrive home in District 12, greeted by Peeta's kiss for me and his high-five for Dean, I begin to feel optimistic. Huh. Maybe Dean can hack being a Victor after all.

At least, that's what I think until one night in the middle of spring. The Reaping for the 90th Hunger Games is about a month away.

I am in my room, preparing for bed and having just put on my pajamas, when I hear a frantic knock at the door. Curious, I open it, expecting Peeta. But it's Dean. He comes tearing in without so much as a hello. I am horrified to see him doubled-over, heaving, his eyes wild and panicked.

"Dean? What's wrong?"

"So, I'm at the Hob, and Greasy Sae is asking me about mentoring for the Games. I tell her it will be fine. And then, she goes and says, "Well, be careful with those sponsors. They like their sex toys rough." Of course, I have no clue what she's talking about. And then it dawns on me and I wonder: is it true? To get money from sponsors you have to... _sleep_ with them? Is it true?!" He looks an absolute wreck.

I bite my lip nervously. "That's the most common way of... doing business. But it usually doesn't happen until late in the Games, after the gift prices have spiked."

Dean groans, obviously not wanting to hear that. "But, sometimes it doesn't even happen... and there are other ways!" I placate desperately, even though it's probably already too late.

"Does it hurt?" and Dean almost whimpers it. In the almost year I have known him, I have never seen him like this. "Will they be crushing me, and... touching me, and... I can't take this, Katniss, please!"

I stare at him, almost stunned. Not just because of this uncharacteristic response, but from the implications hanging in the air. Is Dean a... virgin? That _is_ a surprise. It's not as though he is unattractive. He is. And strong. He proved that especially in the arena. Any girl would be lucky to have him.

"You'll just have to learn, Dean. If it happens, it happens."

"So it's on-the-job training then? I lose my virginity to a total stranger? Someone I don't love? Someone I don't even _know_?"

I grimace, wondering how to handle this. "Sometimes, a Victor has to do what a Victor has to do. It's not the worst thing in the world, Dean. It happened that way for me."

Dean calms down slightly at this revelation, and I wonder if it makes him feel somewhat better. He regards me curiously. "Does Peeta know?"

I shrug. "He does. I've been open about it. He says he's fine with it, but I know it angers him that _anyone_ is made to do such things."

"And will you be fine with me doing it? When it happens?" Dean demands.

This point makes me take pause. I almost have to put myself in Peeta's shoes to get my brain around it. Would I be angry if I knew Dean was having to sleep with strangers and sell himself? I know I would want to protect him somehow, just as Peeta would surely want to protect me were it within his power to do so. And then, I realize: I still _can_ protect Dean.

By getting to him first.

Approaching my protégé, I tenderly brush the hair back out of his face and run my hand down his cheek. He flinches.

"What are you doing?"

"Sssssshhh..." I place a finger to his lips, before replacing it with my own mouth. A tender kiss.

It takes a Dean a moment to relax into it. Only once does he try to pull away. "But... Peeta..."

"This isn't about Peeta," I tell him firmly, and I kiss him again. Right away, I learn that Dean probably has no experience even with kissing, but he's learning quickly. I slip his tongue in between his teeth and massage the inside of his mouth with it.

I should feel repulsed. I am seducing someone who is almost half my age; Dean is only 17! And he's not wrong... Peeta is still in the equation. But this is about saving Dean. Nothing more.

So thinking, I decide to test if Dean is ready to up the ante. I cup his length through his pants, and he moans. Satisfied, I begin to undo the button and throw his pants down. Dean tears at his own shirt to do his part in the undressing.

Pushing Dean flat onto his back on my bed, I use the respite in our kissing to strip out of the pajamas I just changed into minutes before. I throw off my top over my head to reveal an immaculate white bra covering my breasts. A moment later, I unclasp the bra too and let it fall away. Now stark naked, I blithely straddle Dean's waist. I see his penis standing at attention. The girth is quite impressive, and I can see it throbbing expectantly, waiting for something it has not yet undergone. Dean appears slightly fearful again, so I just whisper, "Trust me. Trust me."

I go down on him, sinking onto his member so that I am impaled on it. Now unified with him, I begin to undulate my body, the rolling starting at my hips before moving up along my bare back. My ass rests on Dean's thighs. Only occasionally do I glance down at him to observe my handiwork. I am having quite the effect.

Dean doesn't appear to be in pain, that much is clear, but I think the pleasure still shocks him. His eyes are wide, his mouth open. He groans incessantly. "Ohhhhhh... Guhhhhhhh..." I languidly bend over him and kiss him to shut him up. Taking his hands, I let Dean paw and grope my breasts, encouraging him to become an active participant. This prompting is really all he needs, and Dean now begins to thrust upwards into me. Breaking our kiss and throwing my head back, I cry out.

"OHHHHHHH!" I cum all over his cock, soaking it. This only spurs Dean on. Quickly, I pull out, rising off of him. He's close, but there are other means with which to finish him. Curling my hand into a fist, I begin to pump his shaft, up and down, faster and faster, until at last, the juices spurt forth like a geyser, coating his abdomen.

Dean is panting, eyes still wide as saucers, but there's a small smile gracing his face now. I kiss his lips chastely.

"Good boy. See? Not so bad." I cleanse myself and change back into my pajamas before lying down next to him. "Try to go to sleep."

* * *

Upon waking up with Dean in my bed the next morning, we briefly talk. He thanks me for taking his virginity, but seems to understand that this was all business, nothing more. Good. I wouldn't want a teenager falling in love with me, especially if he's my student. But I'm glad his first time was with someone who _does_ love him... just in a different way. At the same time, I can't help but notice some guilt in Dean's eyes; I instinctively guess he is worried that he has betrayed Peeta.

But we can keep this between us. What Peeta doesn't know won't hurt him, right?

Oh, how wrong I am.

The very next evening, I am interrupted from fixing myself dinner to hear a commotion coming from Dean's mansion next door. Running outside, I can see Dean and Peeta in the center of the Village.

"Peeta... I don't want to fight you..."

"You should have thought of that before you slept with Katniss!" Peeta lunges for my apprentice, knocking him down in a tackle.

"Get the hell off, old man!" Dean gets angry now, throwing Peeta off. "It wasn't like that!"

"Oh, I bet it wasn't!" Peeta sneers sarcastically. He throws a punch at Dean's head, which the latter ducks before launching a jab of his own and finding a mark in Peeta's stomach. Peeta doubles over as Dean grabs him and throws him right into the stone fountain marking the center of the Village.

I now run down my front steps and launch myself between the two men just as Peeta is hurling himself out of the fountain.

"Stop it! Both of you!"

"Glad you decided to show up, sweetheart!" Peeta growls. "Were you too busy masturbating to this one?" and he points a finger at Dean.

"Grow up, Peeta! It wasn't like that! Dean's telling the truth!"

"So, what _was_ it like, Katniss? Huh?"

"You know what Victors have to do to get sponsors! Dean was a virgin, so I... gave him some pointers."

Peeta stares. "You gave him some _pointers_? He's a kid! I hope you're at the age of consent, mister!"

"I'm 17, asshole!" Dean hollers back. "And yes, I consented! Better it was with someone I knew!"

But Peeta's full attention is back on me. "So who else have you been 'giving pointers' to?"

I blink, as though I have just been struck. "Nobody! It's you; I only want you..."

Peeta turns away, throwing up his hands. "You know what? I don't want to hear it! Consider our previous engagement cancelled!" - the code we have taken to using to refer to our upcoming nuptials that are apparently no longer upcoming. Peeta storms out of the Village before I can think of something else to say.

Blinking back tears, I look to see Dean sadly staring at his feet. He must feel this is his fault. It isn't, but I don't have the energy to tell him so. Instead, I turn sadly away and retreat into my mansion. Soon after, he does too.


	12. Chapter 12: I Can Fix It

**Chapter 12: I Can Fix It**

Following the calling off of our engagement, Peeta and I don't speak for several months. No longer do I go over to the bakery to pick up bread or exchange sweet gestures of love. I would send Dean to get the bread, were it not for the fear that Peeta might still have a vendetta against the boy and try to kill him all over again.

The 90th Hunger Games resulted in a loss for Twelve. Dean was pretty bummed about it. After navigating one sexual encounter with a sponsor to get medicine for our girl tribute, I think he figured the sacrifice would be worth something. Like another Victor for our District. He took it worse than I did when she went down in the Final Four. I told Dean not to take it to heart. "Be prepared that it might be awhile before we see another District 12 Victor again."

Returning to our exile in the Victors' Village, I go out and hunt only to avoid wallowing in the stew of bitterness and pain that I placed upon myself. Otherwise, I will sit in my empty mansion and cry over the love that I let slip through my fingers.

One night, it is pouring rain. As I make to close one window to keep out the water, I notice that the hinge is rusted and won't shut all the way. I groan and try to brace the shutters closed with a bucket. It barely rests on the windowsill.

I have no other choice. I have to get this window fixed. Otherwise, the house might flood if this level of rainwater keeps up. Nervously, I reach for the phone and dial a number.

"Hey. It's Katniss. One of my windows won't shut all the way. Can you come over?"

I'm surprised that he even says yes. Several minutes later, a knock at the door prompts me to let Peeta in. Wordlessly, he crosses over to the window and readies his tools. I sadly sit at the table and keep my eyes on him the whole time. I've missed watching him work. I've missed _being_ with him!

I wish I could say that it is the candlelight that weakens my eyes, but pretty soon, my tears are falling freely onto the tabletop. It is a few minutes before I see Peeta standing at my side, staring at me. The window looks all repaired.

"What is it?"

"Peeta... my heart is breaking." I should have realized it wasn't only the window that needed fixing.

There is silence for a moment. Then, Peeta responds, "I can fix that, too, if you like."

His offer hangs in the air. Does he truly mean it? After all the pain I've caused him? I don't want to risk my emotions further in trying to find out and being mistaken. So I don't reply. I sense Peeta turning away...

I can't stand it any longer! All at once, I suddenly seize him, pull him to me and kiss his lips desperately. Peeta moans into my mouth as he runs his fingers through my long brown hair, clearing out the tangles.

Growing bolder as the kiss becomes more involved, I pull Peeta into my lap and make him straddle me and the chair I'm sitting in. Lips still pressed resolutely to his, I begin to fumble at the buttons of his shirt. Then his pants. I undress him slowly, teasingly.

Peeta, meanwhile, is not as patient. He is groping me everywhere that he can reach. As he struggles with my top, I have to briefly break the kiss to help him pull it over my head and cast it aside. I shimmy out of my pants, Peeta propping himself up to let them fall past my thighs.

I don't have a chance to lay eyes on Peeta's undoubtedly swollen and beautiful manhood. Swollen for _me_. But I feel it. I _feel_ it push into my vagina. I lean my head back against the chair's headrest and let out a sexy moan. "Uhhhhhhhh..." I arch my neck into Peeta's lips, as he now trails kisses along my face and down to my collarbone.

"Huhhhh... Huhhh..." I pant heavily, my face trashing about wildly as I try to kiss my lover with open mouth. Peeta begins to thrust into me, faster and faster; at certain points, the chair leans back so far that it is in danger of toppling over.

"Mmmmmm... UHHHHHHHH! OHHHHHHHHH! Peeta..." I close my eyes and smile in pleasure as his lips worship my body.

My brain becomes so fuzzy from the pleasure that I don't remember when I orgasm, or how many times, or even if I make Peeta cum.

* * *

Several hours later, we are still in that chair, with Peeta in my lap. Our naked bodies are wrapped around each other. I glance at Peeta, before turning his chin to me so I can softly peck his lips.

"Hi," I whisper, beaming.

All is forgiven.


	13. Chapter 13: Fourth Quarter Quell

**Chapter 13: Fourth Quarter Quell**

I can't believe it's been ten years. Ten years since Peeta and I rekindled our romance.

No, we still have not gotten married. And no, we are not even engaged to be married. But I split my time between Victors' Village and Mellark's Bakery. Half of my stuff is at his place. We are domestic partners.

Meanwhile, Dean and I are still serving as mentors for the Games. In the last decade, my one successful protégé has become a pro at his Victor duties. Plus, his prepping of the boy tribute, when I used to have to coach both, has been a huge weight off of my shoulders. He is now a handsome youth of 27. I wonder if he might find himself a girl soon and marry.

That might not be an easy option, though. A life for a Victor is a very hard one. Especially now, when the next Games is extra special. For this is the year of the 100th Hunger Games. The Fourth Quarter Quell. It sickens me. The Capitol has now subjected us to this sick madness for a century.

As has happened every 25 years, a special Reading of the Card is held, to announce the twist for this new Quell. I have only been alive for one other, was Reaped for it as a Victor, and won. At that time, I had only Haymitch with me - the best secret weapon ever for he had won a Quarter Quell himself. This time, I have Dean and Peeta with me. Though Peeta is not a Victor, I invite him to my place anyway, as comfort.

President Snow starts by reciting the twists of the previous Quells. The First Quarter Quell involved holding a special election, with the district citizens voting on the tributes who would represent it. The Second Quarter Quell - the in which Haymitch was champion - sent twice as many children into the arena. The Third Quarter Quell - mine and the second Games I emerged from alive - involved previous Victors returning to the arena.

"And now we honor our Fourth Quarter Quell." Upon the card's presentation, the President reads without pausing, "On the 100th anniversary, as a reminder that fathers encouraged their sons to go into battle, the tributes shall be all men, Reaped from the ages of 30 to 50."

It is as if we speak, but with no words. Dean and I both look as one to Peeta sitting between us. He is 42, and within the eligible age range. And Dean only missed it by a few years. My boyfriend seems to register this as well. He does not cry. He does not scream. All he does is rise from the couch, kiss me for much longer than normal, and walk out, returning to the bakery.

As soon as he is gone, my eyes fill with tears. Goddamn them! Goddamn the Capitol! I could bet money on the fact that Peeta will be Reaped. I don't think the Capitol has learned the secret of our relationship, but I wouldn't be surprised if Snow has discovered the truth anyway. When the odds never seem to be in your favor, you become a pessimist very quickly.

"Well, don't just sit there sniffling like an idiot. Go to him! He needs comfort right now, no matter how much he is trying to hide it for your sake." Dean gives me a pointed look. He's right, of course. I nod and rise to leave my mansion, preparing to head into town.

Oddly, it is only when I leave the house and get into the open air do I find it hard to breathe. I break into a run, panicked, hyperventilating. My mind is whirring, trying to find a way out of this trap.

And I do. Like the huntress I am, I do. But I'll need to talk Peeta into it first.

* * *

As soon as I enter the bakery, I race upstairs to the room that Peeta and I occasionally share. Seizing a suitcase, I begin to throw a mix of my stuff and his into it, heater-skelter. Filling it to burst, I then lug it downstairs to find my boyfriend behind the counter. He glances up and stares at the suitcase.

"We have to run away. Make a break for the woods. Grab Dean and take him with us."

Peeta sighs. "They'd just come looking for us. You and Dean would be missing from the Reaping."

"I don't care. And if you don't want to come with me, I'll go alone!"

"Katniss -"

"I CAN'T WATCH YOU DIE!" I cry out, the tears spilling over. "Peeta... I love you." I glance up from my blubbering as a hand cups my cheek.

"But could you love a man who would run away?"

"I could. And I would. The question is, could you love me? And the answer is, you would be able to love someone else. You don't need me..."

"Yes, I do need you! I need _you_! Goddamn it, Katniss! We have been through _so_ much! Together. You and me. OK? And if you think I would leave - arena or no arena - think again. There is no one who will be more here for you than me! I will _never_ leave! I will never _think_ of leaving! I will face down that arena and death if it means staying faithful to you!"

I stare at him in amazement, and all at once, I am nearly mowed down by the guilt I feel. Running away into the woods? What was I thinking?

"Peeta," I say suddenly, stopping his passionate declaration of love. "I think we should get married."

He stares, breathing heavily. "What?"

"We've waited way too long. And if you are Reaped... I want us to go in there as husband and wife. In whatever time we have left."

Peeta smiles and kisses me soundly. That's a yes. Then, he turns to his phone on the hook and places a call.

"Dean? Are you there? I have a job for you, but you have to keep it quiet. Listen good; here's what you need to do..."

* * *

It is the dead of night when I enter the woods. By the light of the moon, my white wedding dress - a hand-me-down from my mother - sparkles. On Dean's arm, we emerge into a woodland clearing. At the far end, a simple altar and podium have been set up. At its head is a Justice of the Peace that Dean bribed into officiating. Peeta stands, dashingly handsome in a tuxedo, off to one side.

Dean gives me away, and Peeta and I exchange both rings and vows. The Justice of the Peace pronounces us husband and wife. Peeta actually dips me and kisses me almost indecently, but I relish it. Dean dutifully applauds, pecking me on the cheek and shaking Peeta's hand.

* * *

The awful June day finally arrives. Peacekeepers arrive as they have for a quarter-century, to escort me, and now Dean, to the Justice Building. As we take our places on the stone platform, I spy Peeta in the roped off 40-year-olds section. He dares to mouth, "I love you" to me. I register it with an imperceptible nod of my head. I cannot be seen favoring him, even though he is my husband. The rest of the district is unaware of our marriage and I want to keep it that way. For his safety.

The Mayor's Dark Days spiel is brief and then he reads the names of past District 12 Victors. "The 13th Hunger Games: Duke Vedaldi! The 50th Hunger Games: Haymitch Abernathy!" Moments of silence for both our deceased Victors. "The 74th & 75th Hunger Games: Katniss Everdeen! The 89th Hunger Games: Dean Cronin!" Respectful applause for both Dean and me.

Effie lacks her usual verve, and seems thrown by the only one Reaping Ball in place of the usual two. She plucks the first slip from the bowl. "Peeta Mellark!"

I refrain from crying out audibly, preferring instead to let out screams of anguish in the privacy of my own head. _I knew it! I knew it!_ I mask all emotion as my husband takes the stage, though I pain for him.

The second slip comes out. "Thom Whetstone!"

The 50-year-old Miner Foreman, who I know to be one of Gale's old friends, takes the stage. He is made to shake hands with Peeta before our whole entourage is ushered to the train. In a flash, we are pulling away from District 12.


	14. Chapter 14: Quell Prep

**Chapter 14: Quell Prep**

Right away, Dean volunteers to mentor Thom so I can coach my husband. At least it is an opportunity to spend more time with my husband, and I am grateful for Dean's considerateness.

The next day, we pull into the Capitol. As we disembark the train, my husband seems startled and thrown by the paparazzi, by the glitzy Capitol style. I lead him through the crowds.

"Katniss, honey..." Peeta whispers, his voice low. "How do I navigate this?"

"Just stay close to me," I reply. "Ignore the cameras. Don't make eye contact. I want you to save the personality for the chariot parade."

Dean and I guide our tributes to the designated meeting point where we hand them off to their stylists. "Peeta, this is Portia. She'll take care of you," I say.

Peeta politely shakes Portia's hand. "Nice to meet you."

"She's the best," Dean adds. "She styled me for my Games."

Pretty soon, Peeta and Thom have been sufficiently groomed. Dean and I escort them to the chariots, loading them both in before we go to sit with our Victor colleagues in the stands.

District 12 has always had an advantage in being last in the parade procession. When Peeta and Thom emerge, sparkling and beautiful, they make quite the impression among the Capitolites and Victors. Especially the Baker.

"Mmm, mmm! I'd love to unwrap that!" marvels Rosebud, a Victor from District 2.

 _Paws off, you bitch. That's my husband!_ I think angrily. I wish I could make such a declaration out loud, but I dare not. As soon as the parade and Snow's speech are over, I whisk Peeta and Thom into the elevators before they have a chance to meet some of the mentors. Dean seems rather amused by my possessiveness, but has the good sense to say nothing.

* * *

Training begins the very next day. I accompany Peeta and Thom down to the Center; once Thom goes in ahead, I steal a heated and forbidden kiss from Peeta before I leave him at the elevator. Over the course of the next three days, my husband and his district partner learn as many new skills as possible. There is no telling what the arena will be like, so they need to be ready for anything. Their sessions culminate in private demonstrations before the Gamemakers. When the scores are broadcast that third night, Peeta pulls a decent 8. I would kiss him to show how proud I am of him, but not in front of Thom. My other tribute gets a 7, which surprises me, given Thom's experience with pickaxes. But the chances of a weapon like that in the arena are slim. And at least he is not too much of a threat to the love of my life.

* * *

The following night is the interviews with Caesar Flickerman. I have been to so many that the tributes and their answers all seem to look the same. I pay somewhat better attention to Thom, as he is from home. However, it is the man I married who makes me straighten in my seat.

Peeta is a natural on camera, engaging Caesar just as much as Caesar engages him. The pair laugh and joke, sending the audience into hysterics. Finally, Caesar points to something.

"I see a ring on your finger, Peeta. You married?"

I nearly fly into a panic. Oh no... he forgot to take off his wedding ring... I have kept mine in a jewelry box for safekeeping.

There is brief moment as Peeta debates how to answer. Finally, he says, "Yes," to disappointed groans from many women in the audience.

"Is she watching at home?"

"She is, but she may be closer than you think."

 _Oh, fuck! He isn't..._ I muse to myself. Next to me, Dean swears under his breath. "You idiot! What the fuck are you doing?!"

"Dean, shut up!" I snap, straining to hear how Peeta will navigate this.

"What do you mean?" Caesar is asking.

Peeta blushes as red as a schoolboy with a crush and gets out: "Because... because... she came here with me."

There is a collective gasp from the audience, and my mouth falls open. Oh my God! He actually did it. He actually outed us! I can feel the whole auditorium's eyes on me, and see that Caesar has reached the same conclusion.

"Oh... well that's just bad luck."

"Yeah, it is," Peeta echoes sadly.

The interview time expires. "Peeta Mellark!"

* * *

On the journey back to our quarters, I have time to process what just happened. At first, I am angry that Peeta outed our marriage on national television. His connection to me will only bring him pain in the arena. I don't speak to Peeta, Thom or Dean on the elevator.

But the more I ponder it, the more I think what Peeta did was noble and sweet. He may not have intended it - leaving his wedding ring on was probably an accident - but at least now he can identify me as his wife without shame.

Wife. I am his _wife_. I am Mrs. Peeta Mellark...

Upon reaching our floor, I suddenly grab Peeta's hand and drag him into my suite, ignoring Dean's mumble of, "Here comes the boom" from behind me. Locking the door behind us, I spin to face my spouse.

"I'm sorry..." but I don't let him say anything further as I pull him to me and kiss him roughly. My tongue invades his mouth and I keep him glued to me for a while before we break apart.

"What was that for?" His voice is breathless.

"Thank you," I say softly. "We don't have to live a lie anymore. I can say that you're mine, and that I am yours, freely."

"So... you're not mad?" Peeta stares at me, confused.

"I was at first. But the more I thought about it, the more brave I think you are." Slinking my arms about his neck, I kiss him slowly, sensuously and Peeta kisses me back. As we kiss, I fumble for the button of his pants, working it loose and throwing the garment down, along with his boxers.

Breaking the kiss, I kneel before my husband and revel in the sight of his marvelous manhood, filled with blood and bloating fast. Cupping Peeta's balls in my hand, I kiss them tenderly. Then, I suckle on his balls. Finally, I take Peeta's shaft in my mouth, fisting my hand at the top of his length to vigorously stroke him. Between this and the working of my lips, Peeta weaves his fingers into my hair, keeping himself inside my throat.

"Uhhhhh... Uhhhhhhhhh! Katniss... Katniss... honey..." He croons. I work my mouth faster along his penis. At last, he explodes, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. "KATNISS!" He cums for me, as I knew he would.

Extracting myself from him, I lick my lips clean, then my fingers. Rising sexily to my feet, I give Peeta a deep kiss. "Let's go to bed," I purr.

And for the first time in several nights, I can finally sleep beside my husband.


	15. Chapter 15: Typhoon Lagoon

**Chapter 15: Typhoon Lagoon**

The early morning is still as Peeta and I lie naked, wrapped in each other's arms after making love. All at once, the peaceful and romantic scene is shattered by a knock on the door.

"Come on, guys! Thom is up and waiting!" Dean calls.

Peeta stirs against me, raising his head to look towards the door at the sound. I turn and follow his gaze, before burying my face back into my husband's chest. "No," I whimper. I don't want him to leave me.

But Peeta breaks the spell by rising from the bed we share, kissing me gently as he goes to take a shower.

After we both ready ourselves, we meet outside with Dean, Thom and Effie. Our quintet goes to the rooftop, where the hovercraft is waiting. Dean and Thom shake hands. Dean just catches my eye. Although no words are spoken, although there was no previous discussion, we have placed our hopes in Peeta to win. For his sake. And for mine. Victors always choose between their tributes. It's just a fact of life. I did it for Dean, and Haymitch did it for me.

Turning to Peeta, I take him in my arms and make a big show of kissing him goodbye. We begin to make out. Our lips snap at each other desperately. Our tongues battle for dominance. I moan pathetically into Peeta's mouth. "Hmmmm..."

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Thom and Dean averting their gazes awkwardly, out of respect. I don't care if they see. I can finally kiss my husband openly as any ordinary wife would do.

Too bad I might become a widow soon. Which is why when we break apart, I tell Peeta lovingly but seriously, "You'd better come home to me. Alive."

Peeta kisses me one last time, and then turns to board the hovercraft. Thom follows. I can't stand here and watch that cursed aircraft take my husband from me, so I all but drag Effie and Dean off the roof and down the elevators to the Mentors Bar.

The bar itself is full, so Dean and I take seats at a table with an unobstructed view of the flatscreen TVs. A few of our colleagues will come up and say hello, mostly to Dean.

"What's up there, Cronin?"

"Yeah, how you been, Dean?"

"Just fine Norman, Gideon," Dean smiles in turn.

I am shocked when both these mentors from Districts 10 and 9, respectively, turn and actually speak to me. "We're sorry about your husband, Katniss," Gideon expresses sincerely.

"If he outlasts ours, we'll be rooting for him," Norman adds.

I nod, surprised and touched. "Thank you," I reply quietly.

Norman and Gideon take their leave, rushing to grab a booth as the clock strikes ten and the television feeds go live. I gasp, and Dean raises one eyebrow, intrigued.

The arena is set in an abandoned water park. Pools still filled with water are everywhere, most of which have water slides feeding into them. The Cornucopia is set on an artificial beach just in front of the largest pool. I scan frantically for any sign of my husband, but the cameras have not picked up on me. I only vaguely feel Dean grasp my hand and squeeze it, for support, and I cling to it like a lifeline.

When the gong strikes, the Mentors' Bar goes up in cheers. I keep my eyes glued to the screen. _Come on, sweetheart... get supplies and get out of there alive..._

Scarcely two minutes in, the footage picks up on Peeta at last. He is fast, despite his age, and still in remarkable shape, thanks to hauling bread and sacks of flour nearly all his life. He has a backpack almost before anyone else and is sprinting out of there even before the first tributes reach the base of the horn. No one intercepts him as he disappears into some bush, clambering along the fake rocks of the park. The clang of metal and cries split the air soon enough.

"Man. And all I got was a wet lumberyard with railroad tracks running through it," Dean grouses. "Why couldn't I have been sent to my death in this place?"

I stare at him hard. "It's not funny," I hiss, and he quickly shuts up. I almost throw away his hand, but think better of it.

The Bloodbath is quick and gleans many casualties. Within the hour, all six Careers are picking over the weapons and the cannons begin to sound. I count fourteen before they stop. I look to Dean, who is now scrolling through the live feed data coming in on our table's data pad.

"Who's left?"

"All six Careers... One guy from 5... one guy from 10... Peeta..."

"Look! There he is!" I point.

The cameras are showing my husband actually scaling one of the tallest water slides in the park. Dean frowns.

"Well, that's just stupid. Why couldn't he take the stairs?"

"Stop insulting my husband! He knows what he's doing!" I scold my apprentice.

"Sorry!" Dean holds up his hands in surrender.

It is tough-going, with the slide dried out of water and some inclines of the curves steep. But, Peeta inches closer to the top. I suddenly remember:

"There should be one more... who was the other guy you mentioned?"

Just then, Peeta reaches the top... only to find an imposing and muscular man waiting for him.

Dean points to the screen. "That guy!" He practically squeaks. I see on his data pad that the tribute is District 9's Lyndon Buckwheat.

"PEETA! RUN!" I scream, ignoring the stares from my fellow Victors.

Too late. Lyndon goes on the attack with a blade that Caesar Flickerman helpfully describes as a shamshir. Peeta parries with his broadsword. Their blades lock, but then must get stuck or tangled as the two men grapple. Peeta loses his balance. He grabs for something to hang onto, but can only grab onto Lyndon. In horror, I watch as both men topple onto the dried water slide. "Honey!"

With no water flowing, it is a bumpy ride down. On one curve, Peeta is actually thrown out of the slide by one jarring bounce and tossed high into the air. His body begins the long plunge into the large pool below. Lyndon isn't so lucky. I wince with every THUD until his body is expulsed from the bottom of the slide and into the pool. After a splash, his corpse floats to the top, dead.

My husband surfaces, very much alive, and I nearly cry in relief. I can't believe he survived that high a fall! I hear Gideon throw down his drink in anger over by the bar.

"GODDAMN IT!" He meets me gaze when he sees I am glaring at him. "No offense, Katniss."

I don't reply, except to say. "Time to keep your promise. Start rooting." Dean's cry out suddenly makes me snap my head back to the screens.

"Peeta, get out of there!"

I see another tribute swimming furiously towards my husband. I learn it is one of the men from District 5. Peeta turns in the nick of time and prepares to fight. The men grapple with each other with only their bare hands, treading water.

Suddenly, there is a BANG! It wasn't a cannon.

I watch in terror as an artificial wave suddenly crests and races for Peeta and his adversary. Of course. Peeta landed in the wave pool. Both tributes are swept away by the wave and carried towards shore. At one point, they go under.

The wave crashes onto the beach, several yards down from the Cornucopia. I search from screen to screen, my eyes wide with concern, fear and intense love. Is he... is he...?

A body suddenly moves on the sand, and I scream with delight, only to be interrupted by a cannon. BOOM.

"District 5. He drowned." Dean reports shortly.

"So quick on those stats," I marvel. "When I was competing, we had to wait till night for the dead faces to appear in the sky."

Peeta gets to his feet. He looks exhausted. I suddenly tense in fear all over again when I realize the Careers are only yards away. I observe the pack. They haven't seen him yet.

And Peeta quickly works out a plan to make sure they don't. Scrambling to his feet, he runs along the beach and onto the cobblestone pathways. Seizing an inner tube from a nearby rack, he disappears into the foliage and wades into a lazy river. Stretching face-down over the tube, he falls asleep and lets the current take him downstream and away from the competition.

"Smart move," Dean praises.

I do the math in my head. "We're already at the Final Eight," I realize.

"And your spouse is among them," Dean points out. "Which means..."

"Miss... Mrs. _Mellark_ ," Peacekeepers have approached our table. "Caesar Flickerman requests your presence to talk about your husband."

"Yes, of course," I nod, rising from the table. I lock eyes with Dean to make sure he hears. "Don't let him out of your sight, Dean. Send Effie to find me if anything new happens!"

"On it," he nods.

* * *

I leave with the Peacekeepers, who guide me to the same room with green screens where I was interviewed about Dean over a decade ago. Caesar is waiting for me, professional and smiling.

"Just the person I've wanted to see most!" the television host grins. "Katniss! Details, details! I want to hear all about your marriage! How are liking domesticity?"

"I like it fine. Peeta and I fell in love after Dean Cronin won. We were... partners for years, Peeta and I."

"And when did you get married?"

"Right after the Quell was announced. We realized life's too short and we were made for each other. We wed in secret. Middle of the night. Very romantic," I say the last dryly.

Caesar laughs. "Now, if Peeta wins... will you have children?"

I smile slightly. "If we reach that point... we'll talk about it."

Caesar shakes my hand, ending the interview. "Thank you, _Mrs. Mellark_."

"I like the sound of that, Caesar."

* * *

When I return to the Mentors' Bar, I nearly attack Dean at our table. "Talk to me. How is he?"

"Fine, he's fine. Nothing new yet. Except he looks a little hungry. And in an artificial environment like this..."

I finish his sentence for him. "... we may have to rustle up some grub." I scan the joint, observing the Career mentors already chatting up sponsors, mingling with them, sharing one. My eyes zoom in on one lady off by herself. I don't usually seduce sponsors of the same sex, but if she's all that's available... I move to approach, but Dean grabs my arm.

"No," he says. "I'll do it." He approaches the dame and throws an arm over her shoulder. "Hey, good-looking..."

I watch from our table as Dean flirts with the sponsor. Pretty soon, he has her laughing and giggling like a schoolgirl. She drags him out of the bar. Dean shoots me a confident look before he disappears. I sigh and return to my drink. Dean's a good sport.

About an hour later, my apprentice returned.

"Had a good fuck?" I ask.

"Meh," he answers non-committaly. "But it got me some food out of her for Peeta!" He points to a screen. "Look."

Following his gaze, I can see the parachute floating down. It lands right in Peeta's lap, waking him up. He smiles and turns his face skyward.

"I love you, baby," he says sweetly.

"Awwwww..." most of the mentors chorus. I smile tenderly and blow a kiss towards my spouse.

"Dick," Dean snorts. "He should be thanking me."

"Oh, grow up, you big baby," I tease my student. Dean smirks.

"Go to bed," he encourages me. "I'll keep watch."

I am getting a might sleepy. I rise from my chair. "Wake me if anything happens."

"There's only eight of them left and already plenty of bloodshed, but I'll call you with updates. Go to bed, Katniss."

I leave the love of my life in Dean's capable hands, returning to my chambers and falling into a deep sleep.


	16. Chapter 16: Crush 'n' Gusher

**Chapter 16: Crush 'n' Gusher**

Too long. I sleep too long. By the time I wake up, it is morning. I hurriedly shower and dress, running down to the Mentors' Bar. I find Dean at our table from before, still remarkably awake but with bags under his eyes.

"What happened?"

"Nothing," he waves me away. "Except the Careers turned on each other."

"What?" I frantically scroll through the data pad. "When?"

"During the night. One of the guys from District 1 came out the last guy standing. Peeta's fine."

I frown. "So that leaves... the Career... Peeta... and..."

"Mine," Norman from District 10 calls out in passing, strolling by our table with a drink in his hand. "Stallion Gelding."

Watching the screens, I finally pick out Stallion. He's investigating some of the abandoned food stands; I see signs that read _Let's Go Slurpin'_ and _Surf Doggies_. Probably picking over them in the hopes of finding a meal.

Peeta, meanwhile, is still floating down the lazy river on his inner tube, eating the meal Dean got him as his breakfast. Eating his fill, Peeta finally decides to exit the current and climbs onto shore.

"Shit!" Dean calls out but too late. Peeta doesn't notice Stallion from where he has exited the lazy river.

But Stallion notices him. "Hey, Twelve!"

Peeta snaps his head up in fear, and takes off at a sprint.

"Oh no you don't! You're mine!" Stallion gives chase.

"No way! He's mine!" I watch in horror as the District 1 Career joins the pursuit.

Peeta leads both foes on a chase, heading for a slide Dean identifies as the Crush 'n' Gusher. Peeta takes the stairs two at a time up the imposing structure. Stallion is right on his heels. At the entrance, Peeta seizes a inner tube built for two people and lunges for the slide. Stallion lunges for him and grabs his leg. The inner tube zooms off down the slope, taking the District 10 tribute with it. The Career grabs another inner tube and follows them.

Dean stares in almost disbelief. "What in the hell am I even watching?"

Peeta's inner tube gains a dizzying speed. Stallion manages to climb up Peeta's legs from where his body has been dangerously dragged along the slide, and clambers aboard the inner tube. The two men duel, Peeta staying Stallion's sword with his bare hands.

I clap a hand to my mouth in terror. "Oh, God, please... no..."

Using a combination of his hands and knees, Peeta flings Stallion off of him and the inner tube. Stallion slides along behind my husband, but is soon overtaken by the Career from District 1. In fact, Norman's protégé gets run over, the Career dealing a fatal blow to Stallion as he goes over. BOOM.

"I'm out," Norman groans. His eyes find me. "Rooting for Peeta now, Katniss. So is Gideon." I nod to him.

Meanwhile, Peeta is shot out at the bottom of the slide. He quickly scrambles out and barely gets to his feet before District 1 appears. Recovering from the wild ride, the last Career comes at my spouse with a samurai sword.

Peeta seizes the inner tube and uses it as a shield, blocking the attacks and using it to push the Career back.

"Give up, Twelve! I have to win!" the Career growls.

"And I have to get back to my wife!" Peeta snarls back.

It goes back and forth like this for a few minutes, neither man giving in. The inner tube is almost hacked to shreds until the Career suddenly loses his balance and falls.

Peeta seizes his chance. Leaping on his opponent, he crushes the Career with the inner tube. The Career flails, his limbs sticking out almost comically from underneath the inflatable, growing weaker and weaker until -

He goes limp. Peeta literally smothered him to death. The cannon sounds, followed by Claudius Templesmith's voice: "Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the winner of the 100th Annual Hunger Games, the 4th Quarter Quell: Peeta Mellark of District 12!"

The Mentors Bar erupts in cheers.

"YES!" Dean pumps his fist. "Finally!" He finally helped produce a Victor. Taking my hands, the two of us happily dance around in a circle.

My husband survived. He's coming home to me.


	17. Chapter 17: One Kiss to Rule Them All

**Chapter 17: One Kiss to Rule Them All**

As soon as Peeta is pulled from the arena, I am barred from seeing him. This, of course, enrages me, but Dean reminds me that it is probably because the Capitol wants to stage the most romantic reunion ever.

And romantic it is, at Peeta's final interview with Caesar Flickerman. As soon as Peeta steps out, so handsome in his tuxedo, I am allowed to "rush" the stage. It isn't really a rush. I just emerge from the audience and approach my husband. Beaming, he holds out his hand to me. Smiling shyly, I take it. Tentatively, I lean in, refraining for just a moment, wondering if this is real. Peeta clears this up for me, as we finally close the gap between us and share a long and deep kiss. I close my eyes in absolute pleasure, splaying my arms across his back, and the studio erupts into wild cheers and applause.

This is the kiss to beat all others, a kiss that almost is confirming to all of Panem that we are, indeed, married. Peeta is my husband. I am his wife. Anything else is unthinkable.

After Peeta is crowned the Victor, he and Dean and I return home to District 12. But we have barely reached there before Head Gamemaker Plutarch Heavensbee arrives and spirits us all underground.

Apparently, President Snow was enraged to learn of Peeta's and my marriage and even more so when Peeta won. The President want to break me with losing my true love, once and for all.

And now, his failure to do this has sparked an uprising.

Once the three of us are taken to the once-thought-destroyed District 13, we help to lead the Third Rebellion. This time, the insurgency is successful, storming the Capitol and deposing President Snow. Commander Paylor, leading General of the Rebels, is sworn in as Panem's new President; her first act in office is to permanently abolish the Hunger Games.

After 100 years, we are finally free.


	18. Chapter 18: The End

**Chapter 18: The End**

After the rebellion, I return with my husband and student to District 12. The place has been bombed out, so that only the Victors' Village. We live there, and gradually, other folks return to their homeland. Houses are rebuilt. Live begins anew.

Peeta and I begin to discuss having children. When I say yes, we try for a baby. I get pregnant, and give birth to a daughter. Two years later, I bear another child: a son.

Dean helps with the child care, and my babies love their surrogate uncle. As a family, we head out to picnic and play in the Meadow almost every day. As I watch my daughter play with Dean and my husband, my infant son stirs from his nap and begins to wail.

"Ssshhh... sssshhhh..." I calm him. "Did you have a nightmare? I have nightmares, too. Someday, I'll explain it to you. Why they came. Why they won't ever go away. But I'll tell you how I survive it. I make a list in my head of all the good things I've seen someone do. Every little thing I can remember. It's like a game. I do it over and over. Gets a little tedious after all these years, but... there are much worse Games to play."

My children will know the legacy of their parents and their Uncle Dean in time. They'll see the Fallen Tributes' Graveyard. They'll see the statues in the District square, planted not long after the Third Rebellion, of District 12's Victors of the Hunger Games: Duke Vedaldi, Haymitch Abernathy, Dean Cronin, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark.

A lived a Victor's existence, it's true. And those scars won't ever go away. But I lead a new existence now - as a wife and a mother. And that existence will save me in the end.


End file.
